


Deep to Dust

by saddestboner



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Gen, Hero Worship, M/M, Not!Fic, Past Relationship(s), reconnecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 09:04:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13971765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saddestboner/pseuds/saddestboner
Summary: Ausmus looms tall and dark over him, eclipsing the sun, eyes pinched at the corners and his teeth big and bright, set in a smile much too wide to be natural.





	Deep to Dust

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tobalance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobalance/gifts).



> This is old and unfinished but I found it on an old writing journal and I'm posting it so [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/tobalance/profile)[**tobalance**](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/tobalance/) can read it.

Munson drops to his knees in the dirt, battle-scarred baseball thunking harmlessly off his nylon chest protector, skidding to a stop in the thick green grass. Ausmus is leaning up against the fence, catcher's mitt caught between his elbow and his hip, watching his protégé with careful eyes.  
  
The pitcher, some soft-faced kid who probably won't make the final cuts, steps back onto the rubber and raises his glove to his chest, reaching in and feeling for the ball. He draws his leg up and lets go in one fluid motion, falling off the mound toward third base.  
  
The ball spikes five feet before home plate, kicking up a cloud of dirt, and Munson loses sight of it. He drops to his knees and tosses aside his mask, crawls around in the dirt for it, the pitcher standing uselessly to his side, before a shadow falls over him.  
  
Ausmus looms tall and dark over him, eclipsing the sun, eyes pinched at the corners and his teeth big and bright, set in a smile much too wide to be natural. "Gonna have to work on that," Ausmus says, mildly, getting into his familiar crouch beside Munson. He holds up the baseball for which Munson had been crawling around in the dirt.  
  
"Thanks." Munson rolls back onto his heels and rests his hands on his knees, brushing the dirt off his palms. He pushes himself to his feet with a groan, slapping his mask against his thigh, shaking the dirt free. He takes the ball from Ausmus and tosses it in the air.  
  
Ausmus reaches out and snags the ball in his bare hand, flipping it to the pitcher. "Let's try that again, okay?"  
  
"Been at it since eleven this morning," Munson grumbles, turning his attention to his glove, tugging at the webbing with callused fingertips. He bends over at the waist and picks up his fallen mask, tugging it on and pulling it down over his face. Looks back at the pitcher and wonders what the hell the kid was doing while he was crawling in the dirt like a fool.  
  
"Keep at it. You can't get better if you give up," Ausmus chirps, slapping Munson in the chest with his glove. He gives him a gentle push. "Go on, get back out there. We're going to get this right."  
  
Munson sighs and throws his arms up in the air, but does as he's told, getting back behind home plate, resting his glove in the dirt. He flashes a sign, changeup, and raises his glove.  
  
The pitcher bounces it in the dirt again, and Munson stabs at it with his glove. The ball glances off his elbow and ends up somewhere in the dugout, scattering the coaching staff and sending them diving to the ground. Garner gives Munson a hard look before dragging himself back onto the bench, and Hickey picks up scouting reports, shaking off spilled coffee.  
  
"Sorry, guys." Munson rubs at his elbow and pops to his feet, trotting over to the dugout. "Where'd it end up?"  
  
Garner says nothing, just points to the ball in its final resting spot, next to the water cooler.  
  
Munson ducks his head and steps into the dugout, galloping over to the cooler and scooping the wayward ball up in his glove.  
  
"Brad, why don'cha show 'im how it's done." Garner leans back and runs a hand through silvering brown hair before crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
Munson gives his skipper a sheepish smile before climbing out of the dugout. "Sorry, Skip. It's just taking me a while to get used to."  
  
Garner waves his hand in Ausmus' direction. "We practically got ourselves a second skipper right here in Bradley. Oughta take advantage of that resource while you can, boy. We all know you got it in you. Maybe Bradley can help you find it."  
  
Munson glances over at Ausmus, and takes in the sight of him, before looking back at Garner. "I know I can do this, Skip. I know I can. I just need some more work."  
  
"And Bradley can help you. Pick his brain, whatever. He can help you." Garner nods, once, dark eyes steeling over, and Munson realizes the discussion has been closed. "Go out, get to know each other again. I know you guys were teammates a little while in Detroit. Get reacquainted."  
  
"We really weren't teammates for that long, Skip," Munson says, feeling small, and growing smaller by the second under Ausmus' watchful gaze.  
  
Garner only rolls his eyes and flaps his hands at Munson, dismissively. "You heard me, Eric. Hit the showers, boys."  
  
Munson sighs and wanders back to home plate, kicks the dirt off with the heel of his cleat. "Yo, Taylor." He picks up a stray baseball and flips it to the pitcher.  
  
Ausmus gives the kid a pat on the backside with his glove. "We'll pick this drill up tomorrow," he says, following the kid into the dugout. He pauses and glances back at Munson, expression unreadable. Munson squirms. "Come by my room at six tonight. We can catch some dinner and get _reacquainted_."  
  
Munson curls his fingers in the face of his catcher's mask until his knuckles crack, all the blood rushing to his fingertips and mottling them red and white. "Sure, Brad. See you then," Munson says, tossing the senior catcher a tight smile.  
  
Ausmus turns and exits into the clubhouse.  
  
*  
  
Munson splashes cologne onto his neck, and then pauses to laugh at himself, it's not like it's a fucking _date_ , Munce! He pulls a clean white button-down shirt out of his closet and shrugs it on, pausing to flick his fingernail at an unwelcome stain on the collar. He glances over at the second, empty bed, wishing just for a second that he had a roommate the way he did all up through the minors, and his first couple seasons in Detroit. Someone he could talk to about all _this_.  
  
Munson turns the bottle of cologne in his hand and decides to go easy on it, putting it back on his dresser. He lists forward, peering at himself in the mirror, brushing his hands through his hair, rubbing his fingertips at the tired lines at his eyes, lines that hadn't been there before, or maybe they were just tired lines he'd never noticed before.  
  
Munson lets his eyes drift to the alarm clock, which reads 5:58 in blinking neon letters.  
  
"Better get this show on the road," he says to nobody, and finishes buttoning his shirt, tucking it into the waistband of his slacks. He tugs at his watch with nervous fingers and rubs the heel of his hand through his hair, checking his reflection in the mirror to make sure nothing is out of place.  
  
Nothing is, he's perfect, as usual. Munson snaps the wristband of his watch against his wrist and leaves for Ausmus' room.  
  
He stops in front of Ausmus' door, wondering if he should have brought him something, and discards that idea as stupid, possibly disturbing and kind of gay. He raps once on the door and steps back, waiting for Ausmus to answer.  
  
He hears a soft hiss and a click, and Ausmus pulls the door open, stepping back. He offers Munson a tightly-wound smile, looking as tired as Munson feels. "Still as punctual as Detroit," Ausmus says, motioning for Munson to come in, pausing as Munson walks by. Ausmus puts a hand out, stopping Munson in his tracks.  
  
"What?" Munson asks, wearily, scoring his fingertips over his chin.  
  
Ausmus furrows his brow. "Did you try to drown yourself in cologne?" He drops his hand and lets Munson pass though.  
  
Munson flops onto the unoccupied bed (Ausmus' is papered in scouting reports) and pushes his face into a pillow. "Fucking tired, man," he mutters, curling his arms around it and squeezing it to him. "Can we just order out?"  
  
Ausmus returns to his own bed and begins to stack the scouting reports, manila envelope in hand. "You didn't get all dressed up just to order out," Ausmus says, shuffling the papers into the folder.  
  
Munson raises his head off the pillow. "I'm tired, man. Long day."  
  
Ausmus puts the folder on the nghtstand next to his bed and sits down, drawing his knees to his chest. He curls a hand around his ankle, thumb pressing against the ridge of his ankle bone, and regards Munson curiously. "Everything okay?"  
  
Munson rolls onto his back and turns his eyes to the ceiling, clipping his fingernails on his belt buckle. "I shouldn't even dignify that with an answer," he says.  
  
Ausmus' eyes turn small and hard, and the playful smile that had been hinting at the corners of his mouth flatten out, drawing Ausmus' mouth into a thin line. "Oh? And why would that be?" he asks, rubbing at his ankle, idly.  
  
Munson sits up and scoots to the headboard, kicking off his shoes and resting his arms across his knees. "Don't play dumb. It doesn't become you."  
  
Ausmus snorts. "I'm genuinely curious, Munce. Please, fill me in."  
  
Munson shoots Ausmus' a narrow glance, throat clicking shut. "Don't call me that."  
  
"My bad." Ausmus sweeps a hand through his shaggy brown hair, pushing it away from his forehead. "Eric. Please fill me in."  
  
Munson slides off of the bed, rolling up his unbuttoned cuffs, slipping his feet back into his shoes. "This was a bad fucking idea." He rubs his palms on his knees and meeets Ausmus' gaze, running his fingertips along a seam in his slacks. "Six years. 's been long enough."  
  
"Obviously not long _enough_ , if you're still up in arms about it," Ausmus mutters, picking up the manila folder of scouting reports. He slaps it on his knee.  
  
Munson bristles, tightening his hands in the material of his pants. "It was a fucking big deal to me. I was a fucking _kid_. I didn't know any better."  
  
Ausmus laughs once, sharp and brittle, tossing the manila folder aside. It skids to a stop at the foot of the bed, and Ausmus kicks out his foot, pushing it over the edge. "You were old enough to know what you were doing," Ausmus points out, searching out and stealing Munson's gaze. Ausmus won't let Munson look away. "If I remember correctly, you were quite skilled -- "  
  
Munson jumps to his feet, fists cocked. "I didn't come here for this, so fuck you," he snaps, fists clenched so tight, the tendons running in his wrists stand out like bridge cables. "I'm happy now. I'm fucking _married_."  
  
"So'm I." Ausmus quirks a smile. "Your point being . . . ?"  
  
Munson releases his fists, flexing out his fingers, splaying them over his thighs. "Of course you'd say that. Not like you even care about Liz. She know what you do on the road? What you do during Spring Training? Or does she still think you're the perfect husband who can do no wrong?"  
  
The spark fades from Ausmus' eyes, and he tilts his head. "She knows I'm not perfect. But then again, who is, Munce -- Munson?"  
  
"I've tried to be," Munson says, quiet and firm, voice shaking with barely concealed emotion. "Six years, I've tried to be perfect. I've tried to redeem myself in Shanda's eyes."  
  
"You'll never be perfect, Muncey. Accept that, and you'll be happier for it." Ausmus offers him a bloodless smile.  
  
"I have to be, it's the only way I can stick," Munson says, letting his arm flop to his side.  
  
Ausmus stands and stretches out, t-shirt riding up to reveal a stretch of pale white skin. Munson looks to the ground. "I'm tellin' you, loosen up a little. Play like you've got nothing to lose."  
  
"But I have _everything_ to lose!" Munson puts his hands on his hips, staring Ausmus down, tilting his chin, daring him to come closer.  
  
Ausmus does, taking a couple steps closer, offering his hand. "I can help you, if you'll let me."  
  
Munson looks at Ausmus' hand, and then at the corner of Ausmus' mouth, refuses to meet his eyes. ". . . Will you help me with my blocking?" he asks.  
  
Ausmus pulls the corner of his mouth into a smirk. " 'Course I will. Now, how 'bout some dinner?"  
  
*  
  
Brandon leaned over the railing and flicked a sunflower seed into the dirt, trying to entice the stray seagull into taking the treat. "C'mon, man, 's a sunflower seed. Ain't gonna get much better'n that."  
  
Eric laughed and jostled Brandon in the shoulder. "Birds don't eat sunflower seeds, genius."  
  
Brandon raised his sandy eyebrows at Eric, feigning shock. "Birds eat seeds, don't they?"  
  
"Yeah, but not -- " Eric trailed off as the seagull picked up the seed in its beak and carried it off. "I'll be damned."  
  
"See?" Brandon reached into his pouch of sunflower seeds and scattered a few more for the birds. "Told ya."  
  
Eric sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, giving his friend a _look_. "What do you think you are, Inge, the Bird Whisperer?"  
  
Brandon kicked at Eric's shin with the heel of his cleat and reached back into his pouch, digging out another seed. He pushed it at Eric's mouth, trying to slip it between his lips, but Eric ducked away from Brandon's prying fingers. "So fuckin' funny, I forgot to laugh."  
  
"What're you kids up to?" Ausmus trotted into the dugout, pulling off his catcher's mask and letting it dangle from his fingers. The trainer ran a wet washcloth over to him and Ausmus wiped it across his forehead, and shook droplets of sweat out of his hair. The heat was so intense, it curled the hairs at the back of Ausmus' neck.  
  
When Garner informed Eric he would not be catching in camp, he nearly leaped for joy at not having to lug all that hot, heavy equipment around. Of course, this meant he would have to find a new position to play, and honestly, he'd always loved catching, but the intensity of the Florida heat was enough to make a man reconsider.  
  
"Brandon is trying to be the next Bird Whisperer," Eric reported dutifully, grinning up at the team's starting catcher.  
  
Ausmus laughed, eyes crinkling in the corners, Dixie cup of Gatorade poised at his mouth. "The _next_ Bird Whisperer? There was a Bird Whisperer to _begin_ with?"  
  
Brandon slugged Eric in the shoulder and grinned at Ausmus too. "Naw, Eric's just bein' a dork." Brandon popped a seed into his mouth and snapped the shell between his teeth.  
  
"I'm rubber and you're glue. Whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you." Eric knuckled his fist into Brandon's arm, and the kid squealed, falling off of his stool to the dugout floor in a heap.  
  
Ausmus stooped, offering a hand to Brandon, helping his protégé to his feet. "Easy does it, kids. Don't wanna blow out a knee or something, horsing around." He gave the two of them a fond smile, rifling a hand through Brandon's short blond hair. "Comin' out with the guys tonight, boys?"  
  
Brandon flushed, modestly. "My girlfriend's comin' in to visit," he said, setting his teeth on his bottom lip. "Ain't seen her in a real long time."  
  
"Shani, right?" Ausmus asked, and Brandon nodded. "Tell her I said hi." He turned to Eric. "What about you, Munce?"  
  
Eric scuffed his heel at the concrete and tipped his head forward, scratching his fingers at the back of his neck. "Don't have any plans," he mumbled, glaring at the back of Brandon's head. "Me and Inge were supposed to hang out and play video games, but his girl's coming, so those plans're shot."  
  
Brandon flashed Eric an apologetic smile. "Y'know how it is, Munce," Brandon said, giving Eric a slap on the elbow. "Ain't Shanda gonna come see you while we're down here in Lakeland?"  
  
"She's got work," Eric said, with a lame shrug. "I don't think she'll be able to make it up the whole of Spring Training."  
  
"Well, you can hang out with me," Ausmus said, reaching out and patting Eric on the shoulder. "My wife's not coming down either. We can hit the town, stake out some bars or something."  
  
Eric brightened, thrilled that the team's most respected player was paying attention to _him_. "Really? That'd be awesome, uh, Mr. Aus -- "  
  
"Call me Brad," Ausmus laughed, shaking his head. "Mr. Ausmus is my dad."  
  
Eric laughed, smile stretching wide across his face, first real one in days. " 'kay, thanks for the tip, _Brad._ "  
  
"My room," Ausmus said, giving Eric's shoulder a squeeze. "Eight o'clock sharp." He turned on his heel and left for the clubhouse, and Brandon scampered off to prepare for his date with his girlfriend.  
  
Eric loped along after Ausmus, glowing, _Brad Ausmus wants to hang out with_ me _!_ running on a loop in his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


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